change of p.o.v

i wake up every morning with the sun beaming on my face.

i reach out next to me, no one is there. my eyes open to the white brick wall in front of me.

check my phone. its still early, no text. no missed calls.

i roll over. my reflection stares back at me. our eyes meet.

its a sad story.

they're full of many emotions. 

the flame..the ambition that used to run me. the dancing fire that used to live in my eyes has died.

the unhappiness usually swells and festers for hours. i fall back asleep and wake up sometime after noon. i find a few "good mornings" and maybe a facebook message.

then, most of my day is spent in solitude. 

the night is spent the same. maybe a phone call here or there. 

but mostly, somber movies ease me to sleep.

all to wake up and do the same nothing all over again.

the point of this entry shares the same point of my life currently: none.

realism.

tarrance sits and recaps on a conversation with his bestfriend.

he recalls the hurtful but very true words of this ever wise and ever rational person.

"tarrance, you have to see things as they are. take your damn shades off and stop seeing the world in a darker tint BUT keep everything in perspective. realistically, most things wont go your way. realistically, people are going to hurt you, disappoint you, and kill you on the inside. you know this. so why the hell are you so surprised when it keeps happening.? records show where the majority of your pain comes from. records show that you keep opening yourself up to it. look, its ok to let people in. its ok to be human. but only a fool makes the same mistake multiple times. you're a fool. a damned fool at that. i'm not telling you to let anyone go. but i am telling you that if you keep certain people around, they will...i repeat, they WILL hurt you yet again. lets be frank here my nigga: if she wanted you like she says, she'd have you. if she loved you like she says, you wouldn't have to question it. and, simply put, things will clearly NEVER be as they once were. hell, you two probably wont get back together. so why set yourself up for the okedoke...again.? stop being a dumbass. wake up. she doesnt want you. period. stop being a pessimist with words and a optimist with actions. you're causing your own demise. remain netural, step back, analyze the situation and understand your position. you're the old anomaly in her fresh new life. you're old news to be tossed in the wind like a read newspaper. in the year of Obama, you're 9-11. still monumental but not to be dwelled upon. understand.?"

he understood.

so, yet again, he has undergone change. 

not for anyone but himself.

self preservation is his goal now. the virtue of selfishness as Ayn Rynd taught him.

and his mentality, neutral. 

how else is he to live.?

thus, he embarks on a journey of realism.

in other news, he has begun his book.

it was somewhat post-poned because he didnt know how it would end.

and now, sadly, he does.

it is a bittersweet occasion. he only hopes that his pain can translate into dollar signs.

the filler.

a flustered tarrance sits and thinks to himself late one night, 

"you dont need me. you say you do but the truth is...i'm just an extra in your black book.

if i were to disappear you'd miss me for a while. possibly cry. but we both know its what you want. what do you want.? its not me. it never really was. no matter what you say. me as a person. nah. maybe the smug emotions i have to offer. maybe the soul i so willingly bare. but not me. not Tarrance Bernard Foster II. and in due time, you'll prove to yourself how right i was. how right i've always been. its only a matter of time until you can find someone else to keep your attention. a few weeks. a month maybe. all the while you drag me along on this horrible and annoying ride. and as you've known me to wait before, i dont think my clock is on pause anymore."

he grimaces with disgust and walks away from his mirror

though...it wasn't his own face he stared at. 

search begins.

Tarrance sits in a booth in chick-fil-a.

he festers on his loneliness. his hermit life.

he hates it. but he lives it.

he realizes that hes sick of posting the same thing reworded.

so he continues to put off his duties towards his blog.

he searches for a new outlook on life.

he searches for a reason to smile.

he searches for company.

he searches for companionship. 

he searches for the purpose behind his endlessly troublesome life.

depression session.

it was something our young blogger had grown used to doing: waking up and not finding any motivation to move.
so he didnt. he rolled around in his new room all day.

instantly, he knew what this was. and he knew he couldn't fight it.
he searched his phone desperately for a savior..but they had all gone on with their lives.
lives to be lived without him. lives where his value would slowly dwindle.

he was at the mercy of his depression.
and he had to face it; alone.
he became so desperate that he grabbed something he hadnt touched in over a year: a tv remote.
old cartoons entertained him. x-men. 2 stupid dogs. swat kats. static shock. avatar.
for hours he numbed himself by means of this idiot box.

it was 9.37 at night and the bottoms of Tarrance's feet hadnt even touched the ground so he decided to change that.
the sun had risen and fallen by now and everything was dark. yet, he managed to stumble into the kitchen to salvage week old chinese food. after nearly gagging to death, he tossed the food and returned to his bed making a pitstop in the bathroom.

he looked into the mirror. he saw a face he recognized.
stale. cold. angry. numb. sad.
he knew why his face betrayed these emotions. before, he couldnt tell.
but now he knew and he planned to do something about it. hiding his emotions had already become second nature, he realized after seeing Shanika for the last time and not shedding a tear.

he had changed. but it was necessary to live the life he has.
he wondered if anyone would understand. if anyone would see beyond their own selfishness to care. if he could see beyond his own selfishness to change back.

the recovering failure dressed himself.
true religion jeans. v-neck shirt. nike blazers. shades.
he drove around the corner to the club "figure 8".
a place he despised but almost gravitated to. there was no line...he walked right in.

it was packed. hot. musty. coon music. he grimaced to himself.
he saw bitches bent over. picked up. screaming. laughing. drinking. smoking.
he saw niggas bending bitches over. standing behind them. enjoying themselves.
nothing interested him. not even the music. standing with folded arms amidst a swarming crowd, he attracted more than the attention he wanted.
bitches bent over in front of him. thongs showing. tits out. he wasn't impressed.

"oh, you gay huh?" one ass showing female asked him.
"no. i just dont think i'd like to dance with you." he responded calmly.
"huh. speak up nigga its loud in here."
he laughed at her. she was a decent looking female. nice body pratically naked. cleavage. thigh. stomach. she bagan to jump to the song playing in the background. her tits tried to keep up.

"and she wants to be respected. every male in this club only want to put his dick on her and touch her, but she wants respect. respect this hoe, tarrance. respect her." he looked at her face and not her body. "foolish. i bet she think shes sexy. you dont have to be naked to be sexy dumbass. cover yourself up. leave some mystery. what the hell am i gonna buy a whopper for if i can have half of it now.? you're not sexy broad. sit down." he shook his head at her while thinking these thoughts.

"what chu shakin yo head for.? you dont like this song.?"
"no. i dont."
"fuck wrong with you.? how you not like gucci and oj.?"
"easy."
"ugh. goodbye."
"i never said hello."
she walked off. her ass followed.
"this is why i hate the club," he reminded himself. he left.

driving. he reminded himself of the past two weeks. why he was angry with people. why he hated them. and he didnt have the energy to hate them or forgive them. he was indifferent about everything.
"will it work.? why did she...? the fuck was she thinking...? why would he? i wonder...? i didnt mean to...but. what if...how could..."
but every question he could ask himself ended with the same answer: "does it matter now.? does my anger, or sorrow, or regret, or anguish.? fuck it."

he realized he wasnt over things he claimed he was.
he realized he was still very angry.
he realized he was hurt.
he realized he was jealous.
he realized he was sad.

but he didnt care.
and his depression session began to end.

dela rosa.

our young writer closes his eyes.
he envisions himself walking a path. trees surround him. the road is unpaved and rocky.
carnivorous beast surround him but do not attack.
he walks alone...even his shadow has refused to follow. God has forsaken him.

he is unarmed. only his thoughts serve as weapons.
he walks the path untraveled.
the road less beaten.
everyone told him to go the other direction.
except one.

but he ignored their warnings.
he did as he saw fit..not for anyone else. but for himself.

he recalled a conversation with a distant friend

"why would you do that.? thats so stupid, tarrance. i know you know that."
"you're right. but Jesus walked the dela rosa to clean your shortcomings. to erase your fuck-ups. wasn't that stupid too.?" he replied.

it made sense.
and thus he began his journey.

the end. or. the beginning.

thoughts swarm as the young writer sits in a Wendy's to begin the first entry of his "new" blog.

"where to start.? how.? why bother.? i haven't the strength."

anger engulfs him as he sighs heavily. he makes a phone call for some reassurance but hangs up before it rings. no one can help him now. no one.
it is a fact that he has long known but has refused to acknowledge.
he wonders how he got here. clenching his teeth he relives the past year of his life.

"its got to be my karma. thats the only reason."

he begins.
he has regained his spartan reserve. blank face. hidden eyes. hair matted.

things had begun to look up for our hero. he was finally content with life. not happy but content.
besides from the fact that by the end of the month he'd be totally alone again, he was okay.

he began to look for other things to do. putting off this very blog...trying to tuck away his emotions. he realized that he had no escape.

he began.
and then...a phone call came.
a call he expected but didnt want.
a call he wanted but didnt expect.
a call that made him angry and smile simultaneously.
a call that he almost rejected.

"tabula rasa" repeated in his head. it means new start in sawhili. clean slate.
he answered. silence.
he knew what it meant. the call spoke for itself.

thoughts rushed to his head.
"is it possible for someone to hate and love the same person. not a playful hate but to seriously hold disdain for them.? is it possible for one to hate and love with the same heart.? what matters beyond one or the other.?"

then stevie wonder sings, "what am i supposed to do? sit up waiting for you...but if you really love her..."

love: its such a fragile thing. if it exist at all. it doesnt.
"so what makes me stay? ignorance. foolishness. no...its not those. i know who i am.
Tarrance Bernard Foster II. better than the first but worse than the next. not the man i want to be but not the boy i was. i live an unfair life. i live a painful life. but what makes me stay to endure.? is it love? is it compassion? is it cause i do have the very vessel that makes the strong strong and the weak weak? no.
its none of this. what makes me love, what makes me endure is the fact that i am weak. i cannot make it alone so i leach onto others. and my weakness has given me more heartache than anything else. i am a man. but i am weak."

and with these words he wondered if his next endeavor would be the way of the weak or the way of the strong. to let the beginning reset or let the end remain.
strong or weak.
only time will tell...